


The First Taste

by Yalegirl03



Series: Constellations [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalegirl03/pseuds/Yalegirl03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Spock discovers the wonders of peanuts and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Betas: Sesh_Khem, Wyntreaurora  
> Artist: Slwmtiondaylite  
> Prompt: "Nothing ruins the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love," ~ Charlie Brown
> 
> A/N: First Taste is the prequel to my story Golden Bells and Serpent Gods. Part of the Constellations series. This story makes references to a deleted scene from Elaan of Troyius as well as the episodes Charlie X, The Changeling and Amok Time.

_This story is dedicated to my late grandmother, Alease, who never made me fudge, but baked the best coconut cakes around.  
_

** The First Taste  
**

**** Spock and Gammy Alease’s Peanut Butter Banana Sandwich  
  


Spock was eight years old when he had his first taste of peanut butter. During the long humid Chicago summers when his Grandma Alease thought it was too hot to cook, they would have sandwiches for dinner. Spock never understood his grandmother’s unwillingness to cook as he found the temperature to be quite comfortable. Summers in Chicago were so much more pleasant than those he spent in San Francisco. Spock would trade in his usual Earth summer attire of thick black turtlenecks and corduroy pants for long-sleeved shirts and khaki pants. When they would take walks by the lake, people would not stare at him for wearing winter clothing when they had stripped down to the bare essentials. When he wore the floppy sunhat his grandmother bought for him, he could almost pass for human—he could almost be normal for once.

On one such night, his Grandma Alease prepared him a sandwich with a side of watermelon chunks and grapes and a tall glass of cool water. Spock picked up one thick wedge. Grandma always made his sandwiches with thick cut whole wheat bread, the sort where you could see bits of oats and grains in the various nooks and crannies. She always cut off the crusts so that when she sliced the sandwich in two Spock would have two nearly perfect right triangles. Spock examined the sandwich. It was not his normal fare of goat cheese with pesto and sprouts or hummus with slices of cucumber and thin strips of roasted red peppers. There appeared to be thick viscous brown and red gel between the slices of bread.

“Grandmother,” Spock called as he lifted his dark eyes from scrutinizing the peculiar concoction. “What is this?”

His grandmother placed her own plate of food on the table and sat down heavily in the old wooden chair, her lips curled into a warm smile.

“You can’t mean to tell me Mandy never made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

Spock cocked his head to one side. “No, my mother has never prepared me such a dish. What is peanut butter and jelly?”

Grandma Alease shook her head as she rose from her seat and made her way to the kitchen counter. She returned to the table with two jars.

“This,” she explained as she set down one large jar filled with a brown substance, “is peanut butter. You make peanut butter by grinding together peanuts with a little salt until you get a spreadable paste.”

Spock picked up the jar before removing the lid and giving the contents an experimental sniff. The peanut butter had a pleasing sweet and nutty aroma.

“And this is jelly,” his grandmother continued as she handed him a red jar. “Jelly is made from cooking fruit with sugar, in this case strawberries.”

Spock set down the first jar to closely examine the second before looking back up at his grandmother.

“I have never consumed peanut butter or jelly. I would prefer to have one of the sandwiches that you normally prepare for me.”

“Oh, you would?” His grandmother replied as she resumed her seat, her eyebrow raised in a perfect impression of his father. “Well, this ain’t a restaurant, short stuff. So, you’re stuck with PB and J.”

Spock looked down at his plate dispassionately and picked up a red grape. He ate it sullenly and soon consumed all of the fruit on his plate leaving the sandwich untouched. He downed his glass of water and climbed down from his seat before heading towards the door.

“And where are you headed, green pea?”

Spock permitted himself to wince. His grandmother had the most distressing habit of using pet names when addressing him. He almost believed that she did so just to annoy him.

“I am returning to my room to check on my enzyme experiment.”

“Not until you finish your dinner and clear you dishes.”

Spock blinked at his grandmother before resuming his seat at the table. He picked up one half of his sandwich and stared at it.

“At least take a bite. It might turn out to be your favorite food. Consider it a scientific experiment.”

Spock looked up at his grandmother whose dark brown eyes sparkled with amusement. She knew that Spock could not resist trying the sandwich if it was in the name of scientific progress. Spock took a tentative bite of the sandwich and slowly chewed the bread. The thick sticky peanut butter coated his tongue, the slight bitterness offset perfectly by the sweet strawberry jelly. Spock’s eyes widened. It was delicious. Spock eagerly continued to consume the sandwich.

“I knew you’d like it,” his grandmother said, her voice tinged with triumph. “Peanut butter is one of the best things on God’s green earth. Why, I think the only thing that could spoil the taste of a good peanut butter is a broken heart.”

Spock did not take the time to comment on the illogic of his grandmother’s pronouncement. He only paused in his chewing when a cold glass of skim milk was placed on the table before him.

“It’s even better with milk,” his grandmother informed him with a wink.

Spock took a large swig of the cool creamy liquid.

“You are correct, Grandmother. The combination is most pleasing,” Spock replied as he looked up from his plate.

His grandmother chuckled lightly before licking her thumb and gently grasping his chin in her other hand. He could feel her amusement and delight through the contact. He was also able to anticipate her next action. He screwed his eyes shut as she swiped her saliva-moistened thumb over his upper lip, removing the milk residue and crumbs that clung to his skin.

“That was most distasteful,” Spock stated.

His grandmother just laughed before patting his cheek affectionately.

That summer Spock and his grandmother cooked a variety of dishes using peanut butter, which had indeed become Spock’s favorite new food. They made peanut butter fudge, peanut butter cookies, peanut butter popcorn balls and Spock’s favorite peanut butter dish, grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches drizzled with honey. They even experimented together in the kitchen combining peanuts and peanut butter with other foods. Spock found the time spent in the kitchen with his grandmother to be very satisfying. He even consented to wear the special apron that she made for him despite the pink embroidered “Gammy’s Lil’ Sous Chef” that adorned the front. Outside of the kitchen, they often found that they had very little to speak about. Spock’s mind was mostly bent towards the scientific and his grandmother found little enjoyment in conversations about string theory or thermodynamic engineering. However, when they cooked together, their conversation flowed freely.

Cooking was not so very different from working in a laboratory. It was all a matter of precise measurements, ratios of one ingredient to another, the interactions between flavors, the passage of time, the application of heat or cold and a methodology capable of producing comparable results upon repeated application. However, unlike laboratory experimentation, cooking had the pleasing benefit of producing edible results. Some of their experiments were a success, like their peanut and sweet potato curry. Others, like peanut butter lemon mint scones, were best left uneaten.

When it was time for him to return to Vulcan for school, Spock and his grandmother packed a suitcase full of peanut products including jars of peanut butter, roasted peanuts, and a few live nuts for him to plant in his mother’s garden. Peanuts were not grown on Vulcan, a fact that Spock found most regrettable.

When he returned home, the second thing he did after giving his mother and father their gifts from Grandma Alease, was to carry his suitcase of peanut products into the kitchen. His parents watched him curiously as he hefted the large case onto the island and wheeled his step stool closer to the counter.

“Spock, I believe that it is customary for one to store one’s clothing in one’s living quarters,” his father Sarek informed him from his place by the kitchen door.

“You are correct, _samekh_. However, this case is not filled with clothing, but with food products. Therefore, the kitchen is the proper place for the storage of these items.”

“What have you brought? I hope that mother sent along some of her famous peanut butter fudge.”

“She did, mother,” Spock replied as he opened the case and removed a container filled with the confection.

His mother clapped her hands happily before opening the container and removing one light brown cube. Spock watched as his mother brought the fudge up to her nose and took a big sniff. Her eyes darkened and she bit into the candy before releasing a pleased moan. While Spock did not approve of her excessive emoting, he was pleased to find that his mother shared a similar appreciation for peanut butter.

“Why have you brought these food items, Spock?” his father asked as Spock began to fill the kitchen island with various peanut products. “We have sufficient food reserves. It was not necessary for you to supplement our stores in this way.”

“I found that our reserves were inadequate as they did not include any peanut products,” Spock replied before handing his father a peanut butter brownie.

“Not only is the peanut pleasing to the palate,” Spock explained as his father examined the baked good. “It is also a high protein and nutrient rich crop which grows well in hot climates. According to the 20th century Terran scientist George Washington Carver, the peanut has various commercial and medicinal applications. It is my belief that the peanut should be presented to the Agricultural Council so that they might research the practicality of cultivating the crop on Vulcan…”

Spock continued to explain the benefits of the peanut unaware that his parents had long ceased to listen.

“Your logic is sound, _sa-fu_,” Sarek interrupted Spock as he licked his fingers clean of brownie crumbs. “If you will please excuse your mother and I.”

Spock looked up from his collection of peanut products to see his father extend two fingers towards his mother. Amanda returned the gesture with a mysterious smile before taking Sarek by the hand and leading him from the room.

“Mommy and Daddy are just going to take a nap, sweetie. We’ll see you at dinner,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Spock cocked his head to the side before checking the timepiece on the wall. It was only mid-afternoon, far too early for his mother to be tired. Most peculiar.

***********

**** Grandma Alease’s Famous Peanut Butter Fudge  
  


“I do believe that you have developed a sweet tooth,” his grandmother told him after Spock had eaten his fourth piece of peanut butter fudge.

“While it is unlikely for a tooth to taste sweet, if I do suffer from a sugar addiction, you are solely to blame.”

“Oh, I see,” Grandma Alease laughed as she tucked a piece of white hair behind one rounded ear. “So I suppose that I have been forcing you to eat fudge until you burst?”

Spock allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards. “Your tactics are such that you do not have to resort to such overt methods. It is simply that your cooking is of such superior quality that I am helpless to resist.”

His grandmother laughed then, a deep belly laugh that soon devolved into coughing. Spock rose from his seat to assist his grandmother, gently patting her on the back.

“I have observed three such episodes during the four days of my stay,” Spock began once she had recovered herself. “It would be wise for you to seek medical care. I will escort you to a physician tomorrow.”

“I’m going to see Dr. Peters next week,” she replied, waiving him off. “I just need to lay down for a bit. Give me a hand, sugar.”

Spock nodded his consent. He took his grandmother’s small pale hands in his, wrapping his long olive fingers around hers. He lifted her effortlessly from the sofa and escorted her to the bedroom at the back of the house. As he cradled her delicately boned hand in his and pressed the fingers of his free hand against the small of her back, he was struck by the unpleasant thought that this would be his final visit with his grandmother.

Spock was twenty-nine years old and about to embark on his second deep space mission as Science Officer under Captain Christopher Pike. It was his custom to visit his maternal grandmother during his breaks as his childhood home was barred to him. Alease Grayson approved of his decision to forgo the Vulcan Science Academy for Starfleet at a time when his immediate family did not understand his desire. When his father ceased all contact with him, his communications with his mother were reduced. Grandmother Alease was a welcome support during his first years as a cadet when he found acclimation to life amongst humans to be difficult.

During his years studying and teaching at the Academy, Spock watched as his grandmother’s life transitioned from autumn to winter. She was no longer the spry woman with wide hips made for seating children and strong arms made hale by tilling the soil in her garden. Her long thick black hair thinned and was shot with white; her solid figure was slight. After he returned to Earth upon the conclusion of his first deep space mission, his grandmother had further declined. Arthritis made her normal daily activities difficult. Her garden was unkempt, the neat rows of peanuts, potatoes and zucchini they had planted together choked with weeds and ravaged by pests. She could no longer traverse the wide wooden staircase of her home and limited her activities to the ground floor of the house.

When Spock left at the end of the week, he stopped by the garden, dropping to his knees in the area where he had first planted a handful of peanuts as a young boy. With gentle fingers, he sorted through the tangle of stems and roots until he found the familiar dark green oval leaves. He buried his hands into the soil, grasping earth in his fingers, and pulled the plant free before shaking it gently. Loose soil fell to the ground from the clump of damp earth revealing small oblong nuts suspended from white roots like dusky pearls. Spock plucked a few of the legumes loose and deposited them into his pocket. He rose and wiped the dirt from his hands and knees before beginning the long walk to the transport station.

Four years later as the Enterprise slowly made its way back to Earth from the far-flung reaches of the galaxy, he received the news: Alease Grayson passed away in her sleep. She was 95 years old, a ripe old age according to the natural way of things, but considered young in the 23rd Century with its gene treatments and medicines that slowed the hands of time.

“People aren’t meant to be pickled,” she had argued when Spock suggested that she consider a common treatment when he first began to notice her decline. “It’s just not natural, these people stretching their lives thin like taffy. I’ll go when God intends for me to go.”

His grandmother was an old fashioned woman, clinging to faith and its notions of a life in the here after when many humans found such beliefs to be naïve. As Spock meditated on her passing, he found peace in their shared conviction in the survival of the soul after death. He was unable to make it back to Chicago in time to attend her funeral.

While the Enterprise was docked for upgrades, Spock decided to return to his professorship at the Academy. He soon regained his equilibrium, working long hours in his lab, teaching three upper level lectures and two seminars. His work was punctuated by chess games with Captain Pike, calls with his mother, meditation and physical training. The captain also invited him to take meals with him whenever possible and was occasionally successful in getting Spock to accompany him to a local drinking establishment. While he appreciated Pike’s company, he did not hold a similar appreciation for his constant urging that Spock “get a life.”

One such night when Pike succeeded in dragging his science officer out of the laboratory, Spock found himself seated alone at a bar. A persistent blond whose smile did not reach her eyes had wooed Pike to the dance floor. When an hour passed and Pike showed no signs of returning, Spock determined that it would be acceptable for him to leave. As he walked back to his campus, his mind was occupied with thoughts of suitable staffing choices for the Enterprise’s coming mission. He was eager to return to space once more. Upgrades to the Enterprise were nearing completion and he and Pike were beginning the process of choosing their new crew. As Spock turned from the main campus path to head towards the faculty residences, he heard the sound of exuberant laughter. Humans seemed to be inordinately fond of laughter, and having lived among them for many years, the sound was not novel to him. However, the feminine laughter he then heard had a rich and pleasing tone, as if the woman were laughing from her belly.

Before he was aware of his actions, he veered from his path and began walking towards the laughter. Spock came to a halt at the entrance of the main library’s courtyard. There he spied a young female dressed in cadet red with warm nut-brown skin. She was doubled over with laughter, her face hidden by a silken fall of chin length hair. She was accompanied by a fellow cadet attired in casual clothing; a thin pale complexioned male with brown hair and eyes whom he recognized as Cadet Riley from one of his lectures. Riley was gesturing wildly as he regaled his colleague with an amusing tale. Spock focused his attention solely on the dark skinned female whose laughter had beckoned him. She was short in stature with a pleasing figure of wide hips, a narrow waist and an ample bosom. The woman clutched a small stack of PADDs to her stomach. Spock was intrigued that the cadet chose to spend her evening attending to her studies when most of her colleagues reserved Friday nights for merrymaking. She looked up at him suddenly and smiled, her grin wide and her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Surprised to be caught staring, Spock inclined his head stiffly before turning and heading to his quarters. As he settled into meditation that night, he remembered the laughter of the cadet with smooth skin the color of peanut butter.

***************  
****Spock’s Tofu Peanut Stir Fry  
  


Spock stood with Captain Kirk in the transporter room waiting to greet the last of the new crewmembers. After serving for several years under Captain Pike, Spock found himself aboard the Enterprise once again as science officer to the young Captain Kirk. Spock found the young captain to be quite different from Pike. He was more light-hearted and walked the halls of the ship with a cocky swagger that Pike had lacked. Following the tragedy with the recovered probe from the SS Valiant that resulted in a large number of crew deaths, Kirk promoted Spock to the position of First Officer while maintaining his assignment as science officer.

Earlier that afternoon, Spock assisted the captain in welcoming the Enterprise’s new Chief Medical Officer, the curmudgeonly Dr. Leonard McCoy. Spock was doubtful that such a disposition was suitable for a CMO, but Dr. McCoy’s sterling record of service assuaged his doubts. He had been more pleased by the their new helmsman Hikaru Sulu. Lt. Sulu possessed a professionalism that was suitable for a bridge officer and expressed a desire to expand the botany lab onboard. It would not only house specimens from their missions, but support an organic vegetable garden. Spock was gratified by his ready acquiescence to his request to include a few peanut plants.

The final officer, Communication Officer Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, was already five minutes late for her beam aboard time. According to her files, she possessed an impressive record. She graduated at the top of her class, was fluent in 98% of the Federation languages and had an extensive background in computer systems. Spock found her tardiness to be incongruous with her record. When he commented as such to the captain, Kirk merely shrugged.

“I am sure there was just some complication planet side, Mr. Spock. Let’s give Lt. Uhura the benefit of the doubt or at least wait until she’s aboard to start writing her up.”

The sound of the transporter materializing cut off Spock’s reply. He turned to face the transporter to watch a familiar figure materialize. The young cadet whom he encountered several years ago materialized on the pad, a medium size bag slung over one shoulder. She no longer wore the boxy red pantsuit of a cadet, but was attired in the red dress uniform of the operations staff, her sleeves adorned with the single gold band denoting her rank. Spock found the short uniform to be visually pleasing on the lieutenant, an opinion that Captain Kirk appeared to share given his straightened posture and sly smile. Her dark eyes scanned the room quickly and came to land on Spock. They lingered there for a moment before Spock saw a spark of recognition ignite in her eyes. Her smile was bright, mirroring the one she had graced him with several years ago. The moment seemed to stretch until the captain cleared his throat, causing the lieutenant’s eyes to skip from Spock to the Captain.

“Lieutenant Nyota Uhura reporting for duty,” she said as she snapped to attention, her voice crisp. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

“Permission granted,” Kirk replied, his own smile warm and familiar. “At ease Lieutenant and welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lieutenant Uhura walked to the edge of the platform and Spock felt himself moving towards her, offering his hand to assist her in stepping down. The lieutenant looked at his offered hand curiously before gripping him by the wrist, her long brown fingers resting lightly on the blue fabric of his shirtsleeve to avoid contact with his skin. Spock glanced down at her hand holding his wrist before catching her eye once more. Uhura’s smile brightened. Once she had stepped down safely, Spock quickly brought his hand behind his back in his normal rest stance. He could still feel the delicate press of her fingers against his wrist as the captain greeted her.

“As you are no doubt aware, I am Captain James T. Kirk and this is Commander Spock, my First Officer.”

“It is a pleasure to be serving with you both,” Uhura replied. “I’ve heard only good things about your command and I am eager to begin my duties aboard the Enterprise.”

“Excellent,” Kirk said. “Since you were the last of our new crewmembers to arrive, we’ll begin readying the ship for launch. Ensign Saunders will show you to your quarters. Report to the bridge in a half hour. I’d like to have all of my Alpha bridge officers on duty when we take her out of orbit.”

“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Spock watched as Saunders stepped forward and attempted to relieve Lt. Uhura of her bag.

“I’ve got it, Mr. Saunders,” Uhura replied with a warm smile. “I may be small but I can carry my own bags just like any other crewmember.”

The man blushed and nodded before leading Uhura from the transporter room. Spock tightened his hand in a fist behind his back, feeling somehow chastened by her gentle refusal of the other man’s assistance. He wondered what had possessed him to make a similar unwarranted offer of assistance and why she had accepted his chivalry.

“Sometimes being captain has its disadvantages, Mr. Spock,” Kirk commented once Uhura and Saunders were out of the room, his brown eyes unfocused. “A woman like that could tempt a man to break regulations.”

The captain turned and threw him a meaningful grin to which Spock replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Right,” he sighed before clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re Vulcan and not tempted by such human things as a pretty face and a pair of long legs.”

Spock followed Captain Kirk from the transporter room to continue preparations for launch. As he walked through the halls, he tucked away the small thrill of pleasure that shot up his spine at the momentary press of her delicate fingers against his arm.  
*************  
****  
Bibi Uhura’s Peanut Soup  
  


Spock found the first few weeks of his latest mission to be rather uneventful. They had yet to leave Federation space, allowing the new crew a brief period to settle into their new roles and duties. As First Officer, it was Spock’s duty to ensure the efficient operation of the crew. Out of all the newly installed senior crewmembers, Spock found himself particularly impressed by the ease with which Lieutenant Uhura adapted to life aboard the Enterprise. Spock found that her performance exceeded her impeccable record. Any concerns he may have held about her ability to supervise officers who had several years of field experience under their belt, evaporated as Spock observed her delegate duties and handle staff problems with an ease that belied her youth. Despite having no post-academy experience aboard a starship, Uhura was able to instill a sense of confidence and trust in her fellow crewmen. Spock was pleased to observe that her skills extended to departments beyond communications. When the computer system picked up a persistent virus after their brief sojourn at Starbase 11, it was Uhura who developed the anti-viral subroutine that restored manual ship control and allowed Spock’s computer staff to repair the damage.

Spock observed that Uhura also managed to befriend the entire senior crew, save for himself. Indeed, she possessed a social ease that had long eluded him. When he went to the botany lab to check on the progress of his peanut plants two weeks into their mission, he found Sulu preparing a floral arrangement for the lieutenant. Sulu informed him that Uhura had a fondness for Black-Eyed Susans and daisies. During a chess game with Captain Kirk, the captain lamented how Uhura managed to beat himself, Mr. Scott, Dr. McCoy and Mr. Leslie in two games of poker.

“She cleaned Leslie out and I lost nearly half a month’s pay,” Kirk complained as Spock contemplated his next move. “Don’t let those doe eyes fool you, Spock. Wrapped up in that pretty little head is a Machiavellian mind.”

He chanced to hear her sing in the recreation room one evening, a grinning Lt. Riley accompanying her on guitar. Spock stayed to listen to her, standing by the door as he watched her dance about the room. Her audience was enthralled and Spock found himself similarly affected. When she noticed him in the crowd, she smiled and winked at him before dancing her way over to Mr. Riley’s side. Spock straightened, feeling strangely warm. A few crewmembers turned to see whom Uhura had sent the flirtatious gesture, their grins disappearing when they saw him. Spock gave them an impervious Vulcan stare until their attention was redirected back to the performance. He slipped quietly from the room as soon as the lieutenant finished her song.

It was another two months, eight days and sixteen hours before Spock had his first social conversation with the lieutenant. Spock was seated on Observation Deck 8, playing his _ka'athyra_ as he watched the stars. He enjoyed the quiet seclusion of the observation deck during Gamma shift when most of the off duty crew was asleep. It was the only place outside of his quarters where he felt at ease. He closed his eyes and sank into the instrument as his fingers fluttered over the strings, his fingers going “where the spirit moved,” as his grandmother would say.

“Emotion has no place in music,” his father told him shortly after Spock came in second place behind his father in the All Vulcan Music Competition decades ago. “If you desire to achieve perfection you must learn to fully constrain your emotions.”

While Spock agreed with his father that music was fundamentally a matter of mathematics, he knew the playing of music to entail much more. It was an expression of feeling, a means of communication, a source of entertainment and a form of meditation. Spock felt his thoughts take order, unproductive impulses dissolve and the tensions of the day seep from his body as he played. He savored the gentle vibration of the strings beneath his fingertips, feeling their movement through his nerves until he was filled and surrounded by sound.

“That was beautiful,” a familiar voice whispered as the last notes faded. “That music really gets to you.”

Spock opened his eyes and found Ms. Uhura seated on the floor beside him, her legs bent beneath her. She was out of uniform, wearing a long teal caftan with her hair loose about her face.

“I find it…relaxing,” he replied as he set his instrument aside.

“I wouldn’t call it relaxing,” she said with a mysterious smile.

“Interesting. I suppose that music has a different effect on the human nervous system.”

Her smile widened. “I suppose it does, Mr. Spock." Spock wondered what the lieutenant found so amusing.

“I’d love to learn how to play,” she continued as she eyed the instrument.

“I would be glad to instruct you in the theory. The mathematics of the _ ka'athyra_ is complex. To my knowledge, a non-Vulcan has yet to master it. Vulcans have natural rhythm which enables us to master complex instruments with ease.”

“Natural rhythm is not a gift unique to Vulcans, Mr. Spock. Humans have rhythm too. Well, most of us do.”

Spock recalled the vision of her dancing in the recreation room while she sang, her steps graceful and attuned to the music.

“If you are willing to learn, Ms. Uhura, I am willing to teach you.”

“Great,” Uhura replied. “And please call me Nyota. All of my friends do.”

Spock stared at her momentarily, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest.

“As we are off duty, that will be acceptable. You may address me as Spock.”

She smiled in delight.

“Well, Spock, can you play a Vulcan love song?”

Spock blinked. “We have mating songs. On Vulcan the _ka'athyra_ was used to stimulate the fury of the mating time.”

Nyota looked intrigued. Spock permitted the slightest uptick in the corners of his lips before obliging her with a song.

Spock found an eager student in Nyota. As the months progressed, her mastery of the lyre quickly improved to the point where he found it appropriate to have a _ka'athyra_ made for her use. When he presented the gift to him, she squealed in delight, startling him. While he was surprised that an elegant woman made such a sound, Spock was pleased to be the cause of her delight.

Three days later, as Spock lit his fire pot in preparation for meditation, the chime to his door sounded. As he rose from the floor, he bid the person to enter. He was surprised yet pleased when Nyota stepped into the room.

“I hope that I am not interrupting,” she said apologetically as she took in his attire.

“Not at all, Nyota. I had not yet begun my meditation. If your visit were an intrusion, I would not have answered.”

“Well, I’ll keep this brief then. If you do not have plans for dinner at the end of tomorrow’s shift, I was wondering if you’d like to dine with me?”

Spock blinked. “I eat the evening meal with you and the other senior officers most evenings. I do not anticipate tomorrow being any different.”

Uhura smiled. “Yes, but I was wondering if you would like to dine with me. Just the two of us. Alone.”

“Nyota, I…”

“You see, I wanted to thank you again for the beautiful lyre,” Uhura continued, cutting off his reply. “So, I asked around to see what sort of gift you might like. Hikaru told me that you grow peanuts in his garden. So, I thought I would make you my Bibi’s peanut soup. The food reserves were just restocked on Starbase 9, so I could make you a real home cooked meal, none of that reconstituted stuff.”

“It would be agreeable to dine with you tomorrow evening. However, I do have one request.”

“What would that be?”

“That you allow me to assist you in preparing the soup.”

Spock met Uhura at 1800 hours the following evening at the communal kitchen on Deck 8, not far from the senior officers’ quarters. Nyota directed him in the minutia of food preparation, unaware of his experience in the kitchen. He felt at ease working side by side with her, enjoying her familiar manner and tone. As she held a spoonful of the near finished product to his lips to taste, Spock felt something warm unfurl in his core.

“So, what do you think?” Nyota asked him with an expectant look.

Spock looked down at her with soft eyes. “Pleasing. Very pleasing, indeed.”

**************  
****  
Pappy McCoy’s Peanut Butter Balls  
  


As the Enterprise moved into the second year of its five-year mission, Spock found his friendship with Nyota deepening. As she quickly mastered the _ka'athyra_, their musical arrangement moved from that of student-teacher to a partnership. They would often perform together in the recreation room. Sometimes Nyota would sing as he played, but often they would play together, hands deftly moving over the strings creating a multilayered wave of sound. Nyota’s interest in Vulcan culture did not end at music. Her music lessons were soon replaced with instruction in Vulcan meditation. Spock was pleased to find that Nyota was a dedicated student in this discipline as well.

“Spock, I’ve noticed that you’re spending quite a bit of time with Nyota,” Kirk commented over a game of chess. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think there was something going on between you two.”

“We are colleagues. Our relationship is platonic.”

Kirk threw him a skeptical look as he moved his rook. “Platonic? Come on, you’re a free man now. Any other single male aboard this ship who spent that much time with Uhura wouldn’t be content to remain mere colleagues.”

Spock picked up his knight. “Be that as it may, I do not have romantic intentions towards the lieutenant nor has she expressed such intentions.”

Kirk raised one golden eyebrow. “Really? I’ve never seen her flirt with another crewmember on the bridge and Rand told me all about her little song and dance for you last year.”

Spock did not reply, merely setting down his knight. “Checkmate, Jim.”

Spock did not give his conversation with Jim another thought until Nyota canceled their weekly cooking session a few days later. He was displeased by her excuse.

“M’Benga finally worked up the courage to ask me out,” she explained. “Saturday evening is the only shift period that we are both off duty.”

“I understand. May you both have a pleasant evening,” Spock crisply replied.

As he took his meal that evening with Jim, McCoy and Sulu, Spock found his thoughts to be troubled. He wondered what activities Nyota was currently engaged in with M’Benga. Would he seek to initiate physical contact? Would Nyota be receptive to M’Benga’s overtures? That evening, Spock required a longer meditation period.

Spock began to take notice of the other crewmen with whom Nyota spent a significant amount of time. She spent shore leave in the company of Sulu and Chekov. She ate lunch with Riley. She had nightcaps with McCoy. Most upsetting was the increased frequency with which she went on romantic dates. While Spock reasoned that she only had dinner with Mr. Leslie once, Lt. Simmons thrice and M’Benga twice more, he found it preferable when she refrained from dating altogether.

*********  
Spock stood silently on the periphery of the central recreation room. The room was decorated in white, red, green and blue in celebration of the Terran holiday season. The speakers blared an eclectic mix of holiday tunes spanning traditions and the attendees danced about wearing gaudy sweaters adorned with bells, pom-poms and glitter. Spock disliked parties but Kirk required all senior officers to attend.

Spock’s normal routine was to arrive at the start of such mandatory social functions, remain until the Captain noticed his presence and then make a hasty retreat to his quarters. However, it was now late into the evening and Spock found himself standing in the same spot he occupied when he first arrived. His dark eyes were fixed on the sight of Nyota standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe. She was wearing a knee-length green satin dress that revealed her arms and cleavage. Spock watched her stand or dance in the vicinity of the mistletoe for most of the evening, giving kisses to every crewmember that approached her. Spock’s gaze narrowed as he watched Chekov dip a laughing Uhura for another kiss. Her behavior was wildly inappropriate.

“Spock, why do you come to these shindigs if you insist on being such a damn Grinch?” McCoy asked as he walked up to him.

Spock continued to watch Uhura, his lips thinning as the captain approached. McCoy followed the direction of his eyes, looking between the two a few times before laughing and slapping his thigh.

“Well I’ll be! The Vulcan is green with jealousy!”

“I am not jealous. I simply find Lt. Uhura’s current conduct to be unbecoming of an officer.”

“Right,” McCoy grinned. “If you’re not jealous then your ears ain’t pointy!”

“I find it illogical that she has stood in the vicinity of the mistletoe for the past 3.4875 hours.”

“Perhaps she’s waiting for you to lay one on her.”

Spock turned to look at the smirking doctor for the first time that evening. “Speculation, Doctor. Faulty speculation, at that.”

McCoy laughed. “All I’m saying is that she might not put up with kissing anymore frogs tonight before you decide to grow a pair.”

Spock watched as Lt. Riley approached Uhura for a third time.

“Excuse me, Doctor,” he said as he handed McCoy his drink and moved towards Uhura.

“Come on Ny,” Riley whined. “Just one more kiss.”

“Don’t be greedy, Kevin,” Nyota said, softening her scold with a grin. “You’ve had two already.”

“But don’t you know that you’re standing in the danger zone?”

“Mr. Riley. I believe that Ms. Uhura was quite clear. She does not wish to kiss you again. Should you persist in your demands, I shall have no choice but to file a formal reprimand against you for harassment.”

“Yes, Commander,” Riley replied, his face pale as he scurried away.

Uhura crossed her arms over her chest. “That was unnecessary Mr. Spock. I could handle Riley on my own.”

“I do not doubt your ability to handle your own affairs, Ms. Uhura. But, his behavior was inappropriate.”

Her eyes twinkled and her lips twitched. “Well, he was correct. I am standing just below the mistletoe. As are you, Mr. Spock.”

“I am aware, Ms. Uhura.”

“Then you better kiss me quick.”

“As you wish, Nyota.”

Spock meditated on their kiss that evening. It had been a brief press of his lips against her own, but he felt the tremor of desire that ran through her body at the contact. Spock thought it a very pleasant experience that he desired to repeat in the future. There was no impediment preventing him from pursuing more. All that remained was ascertaining Nyota’s desire for a deeper relationship. He would make the proper inquiries during their next social engagement.

*******  
Sometimes Spock developed a recipe backwards. By carefully tasting and examining a dish, he could figure out the ingredients and hypothesize their proper amounts. So it was with the peanut butter balls that McCoy supplied at the holiday party. Spock found them to be very pleasing. McCoy refused to divulge the recipe, claiming that it was an old family recipe. Nyota was able to coax a tray of the peanut butter balls out of the doctor and brought the samples to their next cooking session.

“Well, we know they contain chocolate and peanut butter,” Uhura commented after taking a bite.

“I believe there is also sugar and puffed rice,” Spock replied as he examined a dissected ball.

Uhura nodded her head. “Well, this sounds pretty simple. Now to figure out how to put them together.”

They worked side by side in companionable silence, melting peanut butter and chocolate and forming balls. Nyota stopped every now and then to coax a treat into Spock’s mouth to test their progress. He readily accepted the desserts, growing more relaxed with each bite. After a fourth trial, Nyota pronounced the balls to be perfected. She leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee in one hand and a peanut butter ball in the other.

“Nyota, there is a matter that I wished to discuss with you.”

Uhura took a sip of coffee, smiling over the rim of her mug for him to continue.

“I wished to discuss the events of last night and whether you would be amenable to…”

“What’s this I hear about you two cracking my Pappy’s recipe?” McCoy railed as he stormed into the kitchen. “I knew I should have been suspicious when you sauntered into my office batting those pretty eyes…”

Spock sighed. Their conversation would have to wait for another day.

The next day they received a distress call from the Malurian system and encountered the space probe self-identified as Nomad. Spock could do nothing as Nomad attacked Nyota and erased her mind.

“Absorbing that unit unsettled me,” Nomad stated after the attack.

“That _unit_ is a woman,” Spock feebly protested as Nyota was assisted to Sickbay.

“A mass of conflicting impulses.”

The probe was destroyed and Uhura slowly recovered her knowledge and most of her memories. However, she did not remember the hours spent seated before a lit firepot in his quarters or the fleeting touch of his mind as he led her deeper into herself. She did not remember chopping vegetables for plomeek soup or sparring with him in the gym. She could not recall the brief touch of his lips to hers or her answering tremor of desire.

Spock no longer played his _ka’athrya _for his colleagues or cooked meals in the Officer’s Kitchen. He donated his latest crop of peanuts to the ship’s reserves; the taste of peanuts no longer so pleasing a thing.  
*********

**** Nyota’s Peanut Butter  
  


Two years later, Spock stood in Sickbay looking down over the still form of Lt. Uhura. During a recent away mission on Silvus, the landing party was attacked by an unidentified psychic parasite. Two security crewmembers were killed instantly and another died after withering away for weeks. Nyota remained in a coma, her condition deteriorating daily as the parasite fed.

“Just for the record, I am not comfortable with this arrangement, Mr. Spock,” Kirk stated. “We don’t have any idea how powerful this creature is or how it operates. I don’t want to loose two of my best officers.”

“Captain. I alone am able to assist Lt. Uhura. If nothing is done to combat the creature and wake Uhura from her coma, she will die.”

“He’s right, Jim,” McCoy stated. “I don’t like it either, but we have to do something to help Nyota. If Spock thinks he can handle the strain, I say we let him try.”

Spock had not volunteered simply because of his telepathic abilities. He volunteered because he knew this woman. He had tasted Nyota Uhura and figured out her ingredients. He knew their proper ratios, the exact temperature to cook them, the precise amount of time. She was not just a pretty confection, sweet on the lips but forgettable; a brief burst of energy that left one lethargic. Nyota was a slow burning woman, deceptively hardy and complex. She was tart and savory, sweet and sour. She was light and rich; the kind of woman who could satisfy his hunger and make his blood run hot.

Spock placed his fingers on her psi points, her skin soft and cool beneath his fingers. He sank into her mind until their thoughts were one. He quickly found the parasite, an impenetrable shadow looming in the recesses of her psyche. It had grown strong feeding on her bright spirit. He wrestled with the creature, their wills locked in combat, the minutes passing like hours. When he finally overcame the creature and restored the ravaged places, he was spent. Spock pulled back from her mind as he felt her psyche growing warm and bright.

Uhura’s eyes fluttered open, locking on his as she regained consciousness.

“Nyota…,” Spock groaned before his knees weakened and he fell to the floor in a healing trance.

*********  
After spending several days recovering in Sickbay, Spock was released to his quarters. Despite his assertions, McCoy ordered Spock to take three additional days to recover before returning to duty.

“You’re not even to pick up a damn science journal until I clear you,” McCoy had warned him.

Spock had just settled down onto the floor with his _ka’athrya_ when his door chime sounded. He was surprised yet pleased when Uhura stepped into the room, dressed in civilian attire and holding a basket.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Spock?” She asked as she sat on the floor beside him, her legs folded before her.

“I am quite well, despite Dr. McCoy’s arguments to the contrary.”

“Well, he is just worried about you,” Uhura smiled before touching him on the arm. “You took a big risk, Mister. Why?”

Spock blinked slowly. “It would have been illogical to allow a highly skilled crewmember to perish.”

Uhura cocked her head to the side as she regarded him. “Thank you, Spock.”

“You are welcome, Ms. Uhura.”

“I thought that you might be hungry, so I brought lunch,” she continued brightly as she unpacked her basket, removing a few containers and two plastic jars.

“I know you have a weakness for peanut butter,” she explained. “There were so many peanuts languishing in the ships reserves. I thought I’d put them to use.”

Spock looked down at the jar, turning it about in his hand. “You remember.”

“I had the most vivid dreams during my coma,” Uhura continued as she set out their lunch of sandwiches and fruit. “I dreamt you brought me peanut butter and banana sandwiches after my console exploded and my fingers were too damaged to grip a utensil.”

She paused in her preparations. “I remember waiting for you under the mistletoe while you catalogued every man that I kissed until you finally claimed yours.”

Spock looked away, his posture rigid. Uhura scooted closer to him and put her hand on his, her palm resting on the back of his hand.

“Why did you risk helping me, Spock?”

“You are my _t’hai’la_.”

“Your friend,” Uhura translated, her voice tinged with sadness.

Spock turned towards her, his eyes dark, his face clothed in its normal mask of reserve. He slowly turned his palm upwards until the pads of their fingers touched. Nyota took deep breaths as he conveyed the depth of his affection.

  
“_Friend_ is an inadequate translation, Nyota.”

“We should tuck into our food before it gets cold,” Nyota whispered after a time, her hand slipping from his.

Spock refrained from commenting on the illogic of her statement, content to savor the sensation of wholeness and warmth that filled him. He examined one perfect wedge of his peanut butter sandwich, running his finger along the crust-free edge. He took a bite and chewed slowly. His taste buds awakened as if he tasted peanut butter for the first time.

_Note: After writing this, I realized that the plot device with Nomad was very similar to and no doubt inspired by Teresa AF's wonderful story [A Brief Encounter](http://www.elegantextracts.com/star_trek.htm), which I think has become my personal fanon for what a romantic relationship between Spock and Uhura during the first 3 years of their 5 year mission would have looked like. But, in my verse, the movies never happened and years four and five are fair game!  
_


End file.
